Hook, Line, and Sinker
by ckeller48
Summary: Quinntana interaction of what I think happened after the piano scene in 4x08. Straight up smut.


Hook, Line, and Sinker

Her cheek is still tingling as she watches Quinn storm out of the door. Beside her, Brittany is questioning what happened, but she can't really form words.

"Quinn always was a genius slapper," she says, her voice dripping with awe for her old Captain.

Brittany gives her a confused shrug, but knows better than to press the issue. She walks over and picks up the binder that she forgot for class and leaves Santana still standing at the piano by herself.

Santana stands there, fingers ghosting along its shiny black surface, reliving every second of her exchange with Quinn. Quinn was always a little bit fucked up, and Yale doesn't seem to have changed that. But is she just crying for attention like she was when she dyed her hair pink last year? There's no way that Quinn is actually into some older guy who smokes pipes and wears tweed blazers with elbow patches.

They've always been extremely hot and cold in their friendship and they're not good with words, which makes it a million times more difficult to actually have a healthy friendship. It's like the only time they hear each other is when they're screaming and insulting. But Santana is always left satisfied by making her point and stung by Quinn's cruel but unnervingly true words. What she doesn't understand, though, is the fire she feels between her legs after every time Quinn slaps her.

She manages to hunt Quinn down later that afternoon after she spends her time trying to help Marley. Quinn and Kitty are in the choir room again and Kitty is worshipping Quinn with huge puppy dog eyes. The whole scene makes Santana want to hurl, but Quinn is eating up the attention like it's the only decent thing left in her life. Kitty shuffles out and Santana closes the door behind her retreating back, snapping the lock into place.

Quinn is sitting on top of the piano, her legs crossed daintily at her ankles. Santana's rage from the unfinished conversation starts to boil again and she knows that she is on the verge of starting another argument just for the sake of getting Quinn to hit her again.

"What do you want, Santana?" she says rather icily, her eyes burning into Santana's.

"I hear you're giving Kitty advice on how to flirt with old men. Is that your new specialty to deal with your long-term daddy issues?"

Quinn bites her lip and Santana feels her lust start stirring within her stomach. The red flush of anger works its way up Quinn's neck and face.

"At least I know how to help my girl win at Sectionals. You're too busy playing mom to actually teach yours anything," she replies, her voice eerily calm.

Santana takes three huge strides over and Quinn jumps down from the piano, leaning back against it instead.

"Well, I'm already proving that I'm a better mother figure than you'll ever be and I don't actually have a daughter."

Despite knowing exactly how Quinn will respond, Santana still isn't braced for the force of Quinn's hand meeting her left cheek. It's the same one as earlier in the day and it fucking hurts, but it has exactly the effect she knew it would. The rush of wetness between her legs isn't a surprise, yet she whimpers all the same. Quinn looks wildly angry and Santana doesn't wait to react.

Her hands grab Quinn's hair roughly and pull her face into her until their lips are smashed together. Quinn makes a muffled sound and Santana ignores it, keeping her grip tightly on Quinn. She's a little surprised when she feels Quinn's teeth nip at her lip almost playfully and just enough to sting. She parts her lips and swipes her tongue along Quinn's lips. Quinn gives her the slightest space and Santana capitalizes, pushing her tongue into Quinn's mouth.

She can't repress the moan that bubbles up when she gets her first taste of Quinn. She can taste the orange Tic-Tics that Quinn has been popping like birth control all day and all of it is in perfect contrast to Quinn's acid-like words that have fallen off her tongue.

Quinn is kissing back just as roughly, her tongue moving with practiced precision against Santana's. Santana thinks about her getting lessons from her wrinkly professor, which makes her even more determined to teach Quinn a lesson. She slides her body forward, pinning Quinn against the piano, their hips flush against one another.

Quinn reaches up and grabs a handful of black hair, pulling it harshly. Santana's head moves back with the force of it, their lips separating with a wet pop. She opens her eyes to see Quinn's expression. Her lips are swollen and bright red, her lipstick smeared around the corners of her mouth. But it's Quinn's eyes that Santana nearly moans at. Her pupils are completely blown and Santana sees the fire in Quinn that she's only ever seen when Quinn is trying to get something that she wants.

Santana surges forward again despite the pain of Quinn pulling her hair. Quinn's lips meet her, however, pushing against Santana with bruising force. Santana is urged on and forces her thigh in between Quinn's legs. Quinn's dress rides up and Santana can feel the warmth of Quinn's bare skin against her own. She untangles her hands from Quinn's hair, using one to brace them against the piano and boldly uses the other to hike Quinn's dress up around her waist. Quinn practically growls against her lips, her hands holding Santana's face against hers.

It's heating up in a way Santana never dreamed possible, but she capitalizes on it, moving her hand from the hem of Quinn's dress and up Quinn's side until her hand is grabbing onto Quinn's breast and swiping her fingers along it. Quinn groans when Santana finds her nipple through her clothes, urging Santana to continue. Santana pulls away and uses both hands to push Quinn's cardigan down off her shoulders. Quinn removes her hands from Santana's hair to let it fall off and down onto the scuffed tile floor. Santana's hands are already tearing the zipper of Quinn's dress down her back, fumbling with the buckle of the little belt until the dress falls loose against her slight frame.

"What are we doing?" Quinn asks, her breath hot against Santana's lips.

"Does it really matter?" Santana remarks, using Quinn's distraction to pull the dress down Quinn's arms until she can push it towards the floor too.

She doesn't take the time to admire that Quinn has obviously been training like she's a still a Cheerio or to notice the pink scars lining Quinn's left side. She lets her fingers explore the flesh as she moves her lips down to suck and bite at Quinn's neck. Quinn's hand finds the back of Santana's head, nails scratching lightly against Santana's scalp while her other hand holds onto Santana's shoulder to steady herself. Santana knows that she has her best friend and sometimes enemy at her mercy and the rush of power has never felt so satisfying.

With a swift movement of her hand, Quinn's bra falls open and she smirks against Quinn's collarbone with pride at her own sexual prowess. Quinn only shows her appreciation with a tiny whimper when Santana's lips wrap around a stiff nipple and her tongue flicks across its pebbled surface.

Santana thanks the months of cheerleading practices when she easily lifts Quinn up onto the piano. Quinn has to lean forward to kiss her and it's awkward yet somehow incredibly hot. Santana yanks her own jacket off her arms and Quinn doesn't stop her when she hops up on the piano and settles in on top of her. Her knee is between Quinn's legs again, this time pressing up into Quinn's core. Quinn is soaked through her panties and it's warm and wet against Santana's thigh as she moves against the blonde, recapturing her lips in a passion-filled kiss.

Topping Quinn is like the ultimate win and she's not going to let it slip away. The fingers of her left hand twist Quinn's nipple in time with her hips' gyrations. Quinn is kissing her hard and desperately and she knows that the blonde wants this just as much as she does. Her own dress hitches up around her waist as she moves, letting her own wet panties graze Quinn's leg as she rubs against the blonde.

Quinn is getting restless and moves her own hips beneath Santana, looking for more friction. Santana reads the signs well, knowing that Quinn's passive aggressive side is already struggling with being topped by the one person that has ever challenged her. She grinds down hard into Quinn, accentuating it with a pinch to Quinn's nipple. Quinn groans and keeps moving, silently pleading with Santana to give her what she so badly desires.

Santana moves her hand down Quinn's tight abs, letting her nails rake against them and causing the muscles to jump under her touch. She grips Quinn's pelvic bone, squeezing and kneading the flesh as she kisses Quinn's jaw, ear, and neck slowly and provocatively. She controls the rhythm, so when it's obvious that Quinn wants to speed up, Santana purposely slows down; her hips are undulating softly, her kisses are barely wisps against Quinn's hot flesh, her fingers are tender as they skate along the bare skin of Quinn's hip. Having Quinn at her mercy is the biggest ego boost and she's determined to drag it out until Quinn is begging.

It doesn't take nearly as long as she thought it would.

"Just fuck me already, Santana," Quinn growls, digging her nails into Santana's back. She can feel the sting through her dress.

As much as she would like to continue teasing the fuck out of Quinn, she finds it impossible to disobey the raspy of her former captain.

Santana reaches between them and cups Quinn fully, feeling the heat radiating from Quinn's core. Her movements are still precise and calculated, her hand sliding softly along the cotton as she moves to kiss Quinn deeply again. Quinn pushes into Santana's hand, grinding herself against it. Santana smirks against Quinn's lips at the desperate nature of Quinn's undulations. She has the blonde exactly where she wanted her since her cheek stung from the first slap this morning.

She lifts her body off of Quinn just enough to yank down Quinn's panties and to push her up into the middle of the piano. The wood is hard and solid and unforgiving unlike a mattress would be, but for some reason it seems to fit the dynamic of their volatile friendship. They don't cushion one another or soften the blow, and it makes sense to fuck Quinn on a surface that is guaranteed to leave a line of bruises down her back.

Quinn kicks her panties off of her feet and the fall over the edge of the piano to join the rest of her clothes. She naturally moves her knee outwards, giving Santana's hand more room. Santana runs her fingernails down the inside of Quinn's exposed thigh and Quinn shudders against her at the sensation, moving her hips to position Santana's fingers closer to the apex of her thighs.

Santana pushes her tongue into Quinn's mouth at the same time that she pushes two fingers Quinn roughly with no warning. Quinn releases a strangled groan at the intrusion and her hips lift off of the surface of the piano in response. Santana slides out slowly before pounding back into Quinn, reveling in how tight the blonde is around her fingers.

She lets her head fall onto Quinn's shoulder and she begins fucking her, focusing on her strong, rhythmic thrusts and the curl of her fingers against Quinn's inner walls. The blonde is much louder than Santana ever imagined and she knows her own panties are completely ruined just from listening to Quinn's raspy whines and deep-voiced moans. She rocks her body against Quinn in rhythm with her hand's thrusts, giving herself a little relief from the friction of rubbing herself against Quinn's thigh.

"Fuck," Quinn moans when Santana repositions her body so that the force of her thrusting hips is behind her hand and she pushes even deeper into Quinn, her palm pressing against Quinn's clit. She speeds up, fucking Quinn hard into the piano that she swears is slowly rolling across the floor under her motions. They are being way too loud for being in their old high school, but somehow it adds to the exhilaration of the moment.

She slides her hand out to re-enter Quinn with three fingers and the moan that rips from Quinn's throat causes a surge of heat between her legs. She's so fucking turned on and she needs her own relief. She reaches up and grabs Quinn's hand out of her hand and shoves it between their bodies. Quinn gets the message and immediately pushes Santana's panties to the side and presses a confident finger directly against Santana's clit.

It's Santana's turn to moan loudly and she grinds herself against Quinn's hand as she continues to thrust into Quinn, letting her palm slap against the blonde's clit. Quinn moves in Santana's rhythm, moving lower to slide into Santana with one finger before extracting it and teasing her clit again. It's sweet torture and it's completely Quinn's way of regaining some control from the bottom. She holds Santana's pleasure literally in the palm of her hand and she manipulates it, rubbing tight, fast circles on Santana's clit before pulling away and rubbing wet flesh and thrusting back inside. It's a torturous, insanely sexy rhythm and Santana is panting against Quinn's shoulder, her forehead dripping perspiration onto the piano.

She grinds hard against Quinn's hand as she repositions her own hand to rub Quinn's clit with her thumb. The blonde's walls are tightening against her fingers more with every thrust and she knows Quinn is close to the precipice.

It's almost too easy, the way Quinn is pretty much begging her with her actions to push her over. She shifts so that her lips can wrap around a nipple and she drags her fingers along Quinn's inner wall until she feels Quinn shudder deliciously under her. The blonde's hips are moving in an erratic rhythm as her muscles start to clench tightly.

Santana bites down lightly on Quinn's nipple, running her tongue around it in wet circles. Quinn releases a groan through firmly clenched teeth as her back arches and her muscles start quivering with pleasure. Santana pushes her through each wave of her orgasm, her fingers moving as much as possible despite how Quinn's body has clamped down on them.

By the time Quinn's body goes limp, Santana's hips are moving frantically, chasing her own release. Quinn mercifully notices and presses her thumb into Santana's clit as she pushes into her with two fingers. Santana's own hand is still trapped between Quinn's legs, her palm drenched in Quinn's wetness. She can smell the combination of their arousal and she moves herself on Quinn's fingers as she rushes towards climax.

Her stomach tightens and she pushes herself down onto Quinn's fingers one more time. She bites down on Quinn's shoulder to muffle her screams as her body shakes uncontrollably from the white heat spreading through her veins. Time seems to stand still as Quinn's fingers move, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure from her.

When Santana's body finally goes limp, she rolls off of Quinn and lets her back press against the hard surface of the piano. She purposefully leaves a foot between her and Quinn, avoiding the need to cuddle after mind-blowing sex.

"So tell me about Jodie Foster's clambake," Santana says as she tries to catch her breath, turning to look at Quinn.

Quinn laughs and starts reminiscing about her fall semester at Yale. They may push one another too far most of the time, but at the end of the day, she's glad to have her best friend back.


End file.
